they don't tell me what to expect

They don't tell you what to expect

when your sixteen and everything's a wreck

when your mind plays tricks and severs the links

when your memory becomes the most unfathomable thing.

they don't don't tell you what to to expect

when you nineteen and alone

when someone offers their hand in the middle of the cold

they don't warn you against the wolf in sheeps clothing

and they don't tell you how long the night is to be.

what they don't tell you,

at twenty years of age

is how everything flips on its head and your left in the sand

the gravel and broken glass you have walked

no longer stable and crumbles with flop

the warnings they give fall of deaf ears

for how can you warn me when the worst has already come

when the hands i had loved

claw and scratch and bite

how can you warn me

when the damage has seeped into my bones and my blood

how can you expect me to know

that the night will end when i haven't seen the sun

except for in photos of the past and that sun looks false

they don't tell you what to expect

when you sit in that room cold and clinical

receiving fancy long words for your broken mind

the bottle of bright pills that leave you sick for months

and your mind rots.

yet,

they don't tell you what to expect,

when your twenty three and smile for the first time

when the voices that drowned your mind are radio quiet for the first time

when the friends you expected to flee stick around

when the scars that ooze blood slowly scab.

they didn't tell me to expect this at twenty five

sitting in a bar with people they bring me joy

that my sleepless nights remain but they are further apart

that the fear that chokes me now only has a hand on my shoulder

that the scars shine against my skin but heal

they didn't tell me what to expect

so me let me tell you.